


Never Been Here Before (Three Things That Didn't Happen to Trixie)

by ALC_Punk



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1596386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three genres/places that Trixie doesn't actually belong to - the Korean War, Steampunk and SF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Been Here Before (Three Things That Didn't Happen to Trixie)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arithanas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/gifts).



> I had started this around the time I started the first fic for this challenge. Mostly to try and throw any ideas at a board and see what stick. This is sort of a mishmash of styles in genres - I also have recently finished re-watching MASH and so my initial thought was a MASH crossover. That was not to be, but the first section definitely draws inspiration from the show and Margaret Houlihan in particular.

1\. War is hell

Trixie Franklin had long ago trained herself not to run her fingers through her hair. It was a nervous habit sure to ruin any coif be it ever so shellacked. And while it might allow comfort for some, knowing her hair was mussed changed her own comfort to one level less than it had been.

Not that in the current moment of her life it mattered in the least.

"Stretcher!" The shouts and screams all around her flowed into an entangled whole that left her gasping and spinning in her own head for just a moment. Frantic nurses, worried doctors, they all worked the triage as though every second counted. As though they wouldn't be rolled under the carpet when the war inevitably reached them.

It wasn't a comforting thought at the best of times. Standing in the midst of the carnage that war produced, it was a terrifying one.

Even after two months, Trixie wasn't used to the blood and the stench, the screams and the cries. It still made her dizzy, so much blood, so many wounds--the dead and the dying didn't need splash pages in her nightmares. Here they were in full-color spreads that would make _Life_ magazine photographers turn their tails and run.

And over it all, the tinny shout of the PA system, crackling to get their attention: _"Attention all personnel, another chopper's on its way. Triage team to the landing pad."_

Five months of training in combat medicine hadn't prepared her for this. The unrelenting horror and pain, the way it never really ended. She would see a lad off, whole again and sane; two hours later, another would take his place. Sometimes, she thought that all she wanted to do was turn tail and run, burying herself in something simple, like gardening. Or Hollywood--that was always the second dream she allowed herself to have.

"Nurse!" A hand grabbing her arm would have been less forceful than the tone and glare that were leveled her way. "If you're done planning your summer hols, get yourself to the landing pad with Dr. McKinley and run triage! Now!"

The ward nurse had a killer glare, and more than one nurse had run afoul it. Mess with Matron Jones and earn one hell of a reprimand. The matron might not send you back to the more comfortable venue of a hospital where you'd spend the rest of your war tenure cleaning bedpans--she needed her nurses too much for that. But she had her methods.

Trixie shook herself free of her thoughts and did as she was told. The sooner she buried herself in the work, the faster she'd stop wanting to run her fingers through her hair.

2\. Gadgets and normality

Trixie'd always had a streak of practicality. There was no point in dreams without the hard work, guts and talent to back them up. "You could'a been in pictures!" meant nothing when you had nothing to fall back on. And waitressing wasn't as exciting as nursing. Not that there weren't some nights she didn't wish she'd gone for the former, such as when they'd run through their supplies and it was her turn to re-stock the cabinets. She rubbed a hand over her face and then finished rolling the bandages as Sister Julienne had requested. She packed them in neatly, then almost shut her fingertips in the drawer she was so tired and in a hurry.

"Ow," she muttered, sucking on one abused digit, not caring that her lips were probably a smeared mess now.

Copper wires and tubes came around the doorway as though floating in the air. They were followed, predictably, by Sister Bernadette. "Are you all right, dear?" She didn't sound concerned as she set the apparatus on the table, fingers already delving into the wires as though searching for a fault.

"Fine." Trixie made a face at the sister's latest experiment to use clockwork as part of their arsenal of tools. "Is it not working, then?"

Of course it wasn't, but one couldn't dissuade Sister Bernadette, and Trixie had to admit her last invention had certainly been helpful. There was talk of the Royal College of Medicine putting it into some sort of production for more to use.

Sister sighed, then turned her head to smile a little. "I believe Jenny was mentioning there was a sponge cake for the eating."

"If that's a hint to get me out from under your hair--" Trixie chuckled and slipped out of the room.

The hallway was empty, but she could hear the sound of conversation from the kitchen and made her way there. Jenny was leaning against the counter, chattering away to someone who wasn't responding. Probably poor Jane, who wouldn't object to having her ear talked off. One of these days, Trixie planned to take her in hand. 

A telephone rang, and Trixie left Jane to her fate to answer it. Sister Julienne had reached it first, however.

"Yes. Yes, I see," said the sister as she wrote rapidly on the pad of paper they always kept there. Early on, they'd tried to use one of Sister Bernadette's everlasting pens rather than a pencil, and had had to quickly discard it as the nib bit too deeply into the paper and the ink rarely flowed. 

"What is it?" Trixie asked after she'd rung off. 

"That was an emergency call from the zeppelin overhead. Apparently, one of their passengers is going into labor." Sangfroid unruffled, Sister held out the sheet of paper. "They'll send down a ladder and basket for you, grab one of the packets and head for the roof. I'll have Jane come with you for support."

 _Lovely_. The last time they'd had one of these call-outs, Jenny had gone with Sister Julienne. The issue and difficulty was that trying to get the mother off the zeppelin required setting the thing down, and even then, it was too late to go much further than an ambulance. Always easiest, in the end, to turn part of the airship's cabin into a makeshift delivery room, even if they weren't much equipped for it. And the zeppelin would try to land, though depending on where it was from or its clearances, it might not manage it. 

Only in an emergency, of course. If the labor became difficult, or the baby was breech--there were concessions in the transport strictures for that sort of thing. 

Trixie headed off to get Jane and her supplies. It was sure to be a very long day.

3\. Cyberpunk space opera never looked so good

"Come here often?"

Trixie had long gotten tired of the lines. She doubted they've ever been _good_ , but at least they'd seemed fresh, once. Even so, she tilted her head and tapped her cig-stick against the ash-tray, watching as no flakes fell from the synthetic light at the end of the thing. Sometimes, she missed standing in a bar with smoke curling everywhere, but this was part of the new regime: everyone healthy. Her comm-link chirped before she could respond with something suitably scathing. _Aren't you lucky, doll?_ she thought, as she slid off the stool.

No reason to check what was up. They'd scheduled the labor for half-past, and she'd been stretching her last drink for too long. Right now, Jenny was probably making a note about dereliction (if she hadn't shabbed off with that friend of hers for a ride in a skimmer).

A credit chip landed on the bar behind her, but she didn't pause.

He couldn't pay for a drink she'd already bought, and the bartender knew not to put the money back in her 'link account without her say-so.

"Hey, honey--"

She gave the spacer the finger without looking back and hit the swinging door with the right momentum to see her into the corridor and onto the moving floor tiles without loss of energy or motion.

Why she took her breaks in these sorts of places, she didn't know. After all, when you saw one off-sector bar, you saw them all. And she just wanted a break, a place to herself before the job pulled her in too hard. Look at Bernadette--Sis B was in burn-out, the gyros in her extra digits breaking as often as they worked these days. And Jenny kept complaining that her sim-plug got too much static most days.

Sister Julienne blamed the static on the extra chatter wires produced during day shift, of course.

Then, so did Comm-Tech when applied to. Trixie could mouth the excuses along with them, now. "You are in a busy, down-level sector that does not require as much maintenance--" (as much credit allocation as the sectors with those in 'fleet or from a Clan) "--you will just have to wait until the dampening field is upgraded next year, like everyone else."

She passed one of the view-ports, and gave the stars dancing beyond the sort of glance she always did: disinterested, but secretly thrilled. Hard to tell people "I grew up wanting to do this" and have them believe you. But there were dreams and there were dreams, some of them just didn't come as true as one'd like. 

And if Trixie had a credit for every time she'd wished she'd gone into something with more practical applications than midwifery, well, she'd probably have a good meal in one of the five-stars in the luxury sector. Not that she'd enjoy it as much as she enjoyed holding a new life in her hands. In those moments when the world was sparkling and new, she'd remember why practicality didn't matter. Women would always have babies; exploring the stars was a distant hope governed by lottery and the skills needed to survive with no backup and no way home. 

She might have all of that, but she wouldn't have the feel of a new life in her arms. 

Besides, she'd miss the station and the friends she'd made. Jenny might be on her way to getting the marks for a class-a designation to join one of the upcoming expeditions, but Trixie would stay where she was. Not content--but who said being content was what made life worthwhile? A grin flashed across her lips, and a startled maintenance worker stared at her as she passed him by.

-f-


End file.
